Emotions Won House Zero
by garretlover
Summary: What happens when House's emotions finally get the better of him. How will the team react? HouseCameron


**EMOTIONS WON - HOUSE ZERO**

Stacy tapped her foot impatiently, her eyes boring into the slightly thinning hair atop her ex-lover's head. He hadn't looked up from his game boy since she'd entered his office and asked him why. Why the Hell did he think the hospital could, or would, continue to protect his sorry ass if he continued to piss off major contributors? This time one had already filed suit to punish him for his " abominable mistreatment" of his wife who had just wanted to know what was going on with her son. So what if she had lied to House and his team almost causing them to misdiagnose and therefore _mistreat _her boy. House had not only yelled at and insulted her intelligence, he had forced her to leave her son's room while they feverishly worked to keep the child alive. Stacy not only wanted Greg to apologize, she wanted him to promise not to do it again. Yeah, like _that _was going to happen!

Greg, sitting behind his desk, stared down at his game, desperately trying to ignore her so she'd go away. She couldn't see how white his knuckles were from their death-grip on the controls. Nor could she see the tiredness on his face, or the way his stomach was attempting to turn inside out in his abdomen. God, he was exhausted! Lately, sleep had been as elusive as finding gas for less than three bucks a gallon. All he wanted was to lie down and never, ever, get up, but he found that he was also as restless as a fluttering butterfly deciding where to land. Wasn't that a commercial he'd seen? The game went ignored for several seconds as his confused mind set to thinking about that. Finally, the last life was given up, and it beeped loudly at him, snapping him back to the moment.

"Greg," Stacy's voice was definitely annoyed. "Did you hear what I asked?"

He finally looked up. Having her own agenda, kept her from noticing how bad he looked.

"What?" He muttered at her, not meeting her eyes. These last few months had trapped him in his own personal hell. Having his ex around had given rise to feelings, and Greg House hated feelings. He had retreated behind a wall of sarcasm, vicodin, and booze, his surly behavior pushing away anyone who might have given him a little emotional solace in the form of words or, in Cameron's case, actual physical touching. It suddenly occurred to him that he couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him. Even Wilson, who occasionally was brave enough to pat him on the back, had retreated from Greg's stormy, caustic moods. Hey, he'd succeeded in pushing everyone away. Why wasn't he happy? 'Because I'm so damned tired,' he realized to himself.

"You're an asshole," Stacy said, low and meaning it. She turned on her heel and strode out as House watched in confusion. He stared at her retreating back for a few moments before realizing she must have been angry at him. Funny, he really couldn't understand why, and he really didn't seem to care either.

Just as he was about to let his head fall forward onto the paperwork he'd been ignoring and give in to his torpor, the woman he secretly adored walked through the door. Well, some people thought he adored her, but he would never admit to that. Anyway, there she was, schoolgirl vest, new and lighter-colored hair, and those eyes that drew him in and turned his strictly controlled insides to mush in a matter of seconds. He realized that she could do this even today when his stomach was intent on twisting like a seal through water. His face actually softened as he gazed at her, something she unfortunately took as more sarcastic sexual harassment.

"Don't look at me like that," she snipped at him. Indicating the pile of papers on his desk, she sniped, "I told you I'm not doing your paperwork anymore. I've got a life now, and it doesn't involve helping you all the time while you enjoy my pretty face!"

She stopped and shook her head at the empty bottle of whisky that graced one of his shelves, knowing it had been full just yesterday. If he was going to drink himself to death, she couldn't find the strength anymore to try and stop him. Although the spark was still there when she looked at his impossibly blue eyes, his behavior had truly put her off lately, and she knew she had to back off to protect her own sanity. If he were ever to finally come to her, he'd have to get over Stacy first, and as long as his ex was around, that wasn't going to happen. She had taken to wondering if it ever would these days, but she couldn't help it that her heart did painful flipflops every time she got near him. Pheromones, she thought wryly, were not negotiable or sensible.

House's brow wrinkled in bewilderment. Had he said something? He reached into his pocket and pulled out the familiar amber bottle. He shook two tablets into his hand and popped them into his mouth knowing it would aggravate her intensely. Drinking and painkillers were sooooo bad for him! But, how he loved to get her reaction when he did something so stupid. It may not have been a hug, but it was all he was capable of attaining at this time. For a moment, he thought he saw her expression reshape into one of concern, but then it resolved into the familiar disgusted pout.

"I came to tell you we have another case. A five-year-old girl with sudden headaches, rash, and internal bleeding." She saw the slight wince that he tried to hide. Even though he made the effort not to care, she knew kids were his weakness. What she didn't know was that right now another emotionally difficult case was about to put him over the edge. Afterall, House was a rock. And a rock feels no pain, and a rock never cries. Thank-you Simon and Garfunkle.

When he didn't reply, she just sighed. "Foreman is already getting a history, and Chase is admitting her."

"Okay." He finally replied. Lord, what happened to all his sarcasm today? There had to be something to make fun of here, if only to get another rise out of Cameron. He was just too tired. He didn't even lift his head as she left as he usually did to enjoy her nicely-shaped retreating ass. What the hell, he asked himself resignedly. He pulled out the bottle of pills and shook out two more. Chewing slowly on them, he realized that he wasn't even noticing their bitter flavor. As he looked up, he saw Chase and Foreman enter into the next room looking all business-like. Cameron was already there and motioned for him to come on over. Like that's going to be easy, he thought as he absently rubbed his injured thigh. He sat looking at the leg for a moment before finally realizing that he was in the middle of doing something. Oh yeah, getting up. When had that become a major intellectual pursuit? He sighed and stood somewhat shakily, grabbed his cane and limped into the next room not even noticing that his breathing seemed to have taken on a shallow, laborious quality.

The three ducklings did not even look at him while he made his way over to the whiteboard. They'd learned in the last few weeks that his quick temper sought out eye-contact like a heat-seeking missile. It was best to lower the eyes and remain out of range. House picked up the marker and looked at it stupidly. What were the symptoms Cameron had just mentioned to him again? His stomach chose that moment to lurch restlessly completely causing him to lose track of his thoughts. He shuffled over to a chair and gratefully sank into it. Chase finally got the nerve to look, not at him, but over in his direction, noticing he wasn't at the whiteboard anymore.

"Aren't you going to write the symptoms?" he asked innocently, forgetting that his boss loved to play the "state the obvious" game.

"Aren't you going to get a decent haircut and stop wearing flowered ties with striped shirts?" House growled at him, but, he didn't even look to see the hurt look the young man shot at him. 'I'm too tired to even enjoy this anymore.' House thought vaguely to himself. Still, he tried again. There was one person in the room he hadn't yet insulted today.

"Maybe Foreman can write today," he drawled out. "Don't worry, Eric, it's okay to print, we know you probably didn't learn cursive in the 'hood school. Or maybe they taught it on the day you were out stealing cars..."

Foreman just stared at him. This was a little much even for House. He got up and left without so much as a word. Cameron, ever the mom, rose to follow him. She shot House a glare that could have melted glass.

"You go too far sometimes." House just shrugged. The vicodin was starting to kick in, and he really didn't care anymore. He didn't want to take on another case, and he didn't want to deal with people. He just wanted to go home and sleep. As Cameron left, Chase finally looked at his boss for the first time in awhile. He was startled by the change. House looked like he'd lost weight, his eyes were sunken, his breathing shallow and slow, and there was something else that bothered the young doctor. Was he seeing a slightly blueish tint around the older man's lips? He peered more closely, but was interrupted when James Wilson entered the room. Probably House's only lasting friend, James had not even talked to Greg in three days. He had tired of the sarcastic, biting comments about his third wife Julie that House seemed to never run out of and refused to stop making. Sometimes, his friend's emotional retardation, which is what James had come to refer to it by, wore him out. He knew that on the inside House probably needed attention as much as any human being, but for whatever reason, drove anyone who might be tempted to give it to him away.

"House, what did you say to Stacy this time?" He started in on his friend. "She was complaining to Cuddy big time a few minutes ago. You're in trouble again..." Wilson stopped talking. Greg was swallowing and holding his stomach. His lips definitely had a blueish tinge to them that his friend noticed immediately. He looked at Chase.

"You see the blue around his mouth?" Chase asked softly, afraid to talk about House in front of him. Wilson boldly took Greg's hand and stared at the same blueish tinge around the fingernails. He reached down and cupped House's chin to bring his friend's face up so he could see it more clearly.

"How many vicodin did you take today?" He asked. He had to ask it again, and then again as House stared at him not comprehending. Wilson and Chase both moved quickly when Greg's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forward onto the table unconscious and barely breathing. Greg's last thought was that he could finally get some sleep.


End file.
